Real Vampires Don't Sparkle
by Laluzi
Summary: When Edward Cullen suddenly appears in Skingrad, the local vampires are not dazzled. At all.


_A/N – This is just a quick little lolstory I wrote off of a notion that occurred to me in AP US a few days ago. I didn't work too hard on it, and it's not meant to be taken seriously; the characters aren't going to be completely in-character, and, well... if you're an enormous Twilight fan, or simply have no sense of humor, please go back a page instead of reading this. All right, then, I don't own either Oblivion or Twilight, and enjoy!_

It was a perfect day in Skingrad.

The sun was shining, not that the castle's main occupant had any reason to enjoy that. But Janus Hassildor did hear the melody of joyous birdsong, the chatter of his court downstairs, and the bustle of servants preparing dinner – not _his_ dinner, of course. There were no otherworldly portals spawning Daedric monsters and flame, and no player characters tore through the streets on a kleptomaniacal rampage. All in all, it was one of those cliched summer afternoons without any hint of storms or ominous events on the horizon, usually delineating a good day or a lack of creativity on the author's part.

Sadly for Count Hassildor, this was not such the case.

He quickly became aware of another sound, the patter of footsteps hurrying through his private quarters. Having somewhat better hearing than most, he was able to identify the source as his Argonian steward before she reached the door, panting. She must have been in a hurry. That hardly boded well. Janus stood up from his plush burgundy armchair, nodding to Hal-Liurz.

"My Lord," she greeted him deferentially, still short of breath.

"What news do you bring? I don't recall sending for you."

"My sincerest apologies for barging in like this." She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Skingrad is in upheaval, my Lord. There's a man on the streets. Nobody knows where he came from; it's like he just dropped out of the sky. And he's not human, he's a vampire... at least, I think he's a vampire."

Inwardly, Hassildor swore. Vampires did tend to flock around his county like moths to a lamp; considering his own culpability where their presence was concerned, he often took it upon himself to rid the area of them whenever they cropped up. It was his obligation, some small apology to his city that his nature caused. But a vampire out in the open? It would draw in the hunters for certain no matter what he did, and that was even more of a nuisance.

Then the full implication of his chatelain's words struck him, and he paused.

"You _think_ he's a vampire?" The Count frowned. "I would have thought your decades of service here would have taught you how to recognize the undead." Realizing further, he glanced at the wall, where windows overlooking the countryside had once been. "It's daytime, isn't it? If he could stand the sun, they wouldn't be able to recognize him as one unless he introduced himself as such to everyone he met." His mouth quirked up into a smirk at his little joke.

"Well..." Hal-Liurz paused, her expression making it painfully evident that she did not know how to properly euphemise what horrors she had seen. "He sort of did."

Perfect. Just perfect. Another Glarthir had taken residence, except undead. Just what he needed to ruin his blandly perfect day.

"What exactly did 'sort of' entail?" he asked, his tone deadly.

"Well, I talked to the guards. Most of what you just said, but with less running around. They said he just stood there, striking poses, angsting about how he was a monster, trying to read people's minds, and flipping his hair."

Janus felt a headache coming on and quickly waved a dismissive hand at his steward, sparing her the onset of his bad temper.

She was almost at the door when she turned around, looking very much like she had something she didn't want to say. "And, er, my Lord? There's something you should know."

"What is it?" the Count snapped, unable to contain his frustration.

"He's _sparkling_."

0o0o0

Janus Hassildor did not keep many guards close to him. His condition was enough to turn long-time loyal servants away from him in less time than it took to blink, and in response, he seldom let anyone get close enough to him to find out. Still, it was inevitable that he would have repeated contact with some of the city's watch, and he had no choice but to tell those select few the truth about himself. He'd picked those guards carefully, and they served him with few inhibitions, but they were few in number.

So it was with only three guards that he set off with to confront the mystery vampire. Much less of a following than an ordinary Count would take to apprehend a possible threat, but then again, Hassildor was hardly an ordinary Count. It was a cloudy night, the twin moons mostly obscured. His escorts – Dion, the town guard captain, and two of his castle guards – had stumbled around a bit until he'd irritably cast a Night Eye spell on them, willing them to pick up the pace. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

"There he is, sir," the Redguard pointed out as they turned around the corner of the West Weald Inn, gesturing to a figure that was inhumanly and unrealistically graceful even in stillness. "Doesn't move. I've had my men observing him all day. I just sent them away."

"Which I thank you for. This could get somewhat conspicuous." It wouldn't do to have any of his citizens recognize him for what he was, especially if it would make them lump him in with the the day's troublemaker.

Being a vampire, Janus had no trouble making out the form ahead, even in the gloom. He didn't look like a vampire in the least, save for perhaps his pallor. The best way to describe him would be 'containing all generic traits of sexiness that teenage girls rave over'. Because... well, there really wasn't anything more to the figure than that. He had no imperfections, nothing to make him unique or give adoring females realistic standards in life. Suspicions immediately began to whirl in his mind.

As soon as he saw the Count approaching, he gasped, pointing an accusing finger at the approaching figure and his entourage.

"What did you do with Bella?" he cried, his face a gorgeous sculpture of concern and outrage.

"You will address me as Count Hassildor," Janus snapped. "You're hardly in my favor, and you do not have the liberty of denying me the proper respect, troublemaker."

Another gasp, probably the only way that the pseudo-vampire could convey an epiphany. "A count? That proves it! You're with the Volturi!

"I am aligned with nobody, fool, and I know nothing of these Volturi you speak of regardless."

"You're not tricking me!" the Sue yelled. "The Volturi are the vampire nobility of the world. They're creepy, evil ancients who look like old men and want nothing more than to steal my beautiful and unique wife and do horrible things to her! Don't try to deny it, you have 'evil old man' written all over your face! Only the Volturi ancients wear velvet and don't have sparkles of effervescent beauty."

Understandably, Janus Hassildor was more than a little insulted by this.

"Take this madman to the dungeons," he spat to Dion, turning away. "I'll deal with him later."

The guard captain nodded and drew his sword.

"Please come quietly," he said sternly. "I'd rather not turn this into a fight."

"I refuse to be a monster and hurt innocent people!" it angsted in monologue.

"Then... come quietly?" Dion suggested, this time much more slowly.

"How dare you suggest that? I can never abandon my love in such a way! I must wait for her!"

One of the other guards raised an eyebrow. "Do you see any girls on the street?" he asked his companion, who shook his head perplexedly. The first guard turned back to the vampire.

"I suggest you move," he commanded. "That is an order from his Excellency, the Count of Skingrad himself, and you would do well to obey it."

"I cannot move, lest I shatter my image of being the gorgeous and mysterious stranger, Edward Cullen! That would ruin my dazzle!"

"For the love of the Nines," Janus muttered, giving his captain an irritated signal.

Dion's sword flashed out with a speed any non-protagonist would never be able to avoid, causing them to succumb instantly to the tragedy of minor side character death. As it was, this Edward Cullen didn't even try to dodge. The silver struck his exposed, pale neck with a clang, the blade shattering into pieces, and his only response was to turn his head a few degrees to the side and stare dramatically at his foes from the corner of his eye.

The Redguard drew back in shock, clutching only a jagged shard of metal and a hilt.

The Count's eyes widened, and the list of traits he'd observed quickly fell into place. Untouched by any form of attack, perpetual benevolence that refused to allow him to fight back for fear of hurting somebody...

"By the gods," Hassildor whispered, the sheer shock momentarily stealing his breath. "He's a Mary Sue."

His entourage let out synchronized gasps of horror at the epiphany. "But, my Lord! Are you sure? Is it even possible?" exclaimed one. "It can't be... I thought Sues were only nightmarish figments of children's stories. Really bad children's stories. Do they really exist?"

A snarl was already beginning to form on the vampire's face, teeth bared. The undeniable instinct of fight or flight was screaming in his mind, and Janus Hassildor was not about to let his people fall prey to the vilest of creatures while he still drew breath. "Stand back," he hissed, one palm beginning to glow with a nimbus of power.

The vampire Count was many things, one of those being a very accomplished mage, and it was hastily that the three guards leapt out of the way. They'd seen the devastation his abilities could cause, and that had been just a demonstration. Once they were safely out of the way, Janus drew back his sword arm, called upon every last dreg of his reserves of magicka, and unleashed the most powerful shock spell he knew.

The arcane blast collided with Edward, unleashing a furious maelstrom of voltage upon the Sue. For several seconds, nothing was visible of him; he was enshrouded in errant sparks and smoke as the ground around him cracked and split under the heat. Hassildor held his breath as he waited for the cloud to disperse, not that breathing was necessary for him anyways.

What the four saw when the smoke finally cleared was too horrifying for them to stand, and even the cool and collected Count cried out in repulsion this time. He wasn't the only one; shrieks of horror filled the air from his entourage, and one of the guards doubled over and started retching at the horrible sight.

Edward Cullen was untouched by the spell, completely unmarked despite the tens of thousands of volts that had been pumped into his godlike body. Even his shirt was spotless. But that wasn't the worst of it. Residual static crawled across his exposed skin, and where that light glowed, his body sparkled, sending tiny flecks of light dancing across the ruined stone around him.

The foursome stared in horrified disbelief at the abomination of nature before them for some time.

"My Lord, we can't do anything against this... this thing," Dion finally pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.

"I noticed," the Count replied dryly, putting his knuckles to one of his temples. "I suppose it's time to call a friend of mine."

"A... friend?"

Janus shot him a sideways look. "I think you'll agree, this is for the common good... let's just say I know some people who are _very_ good at killing."

0o0o0

"Vicente?"

On the other side of the province, a groaning vampire stirred. Somebody was gripping his shoulder, tightly enough to cause discomfort. It was far too early... Who was waking him up at this ungodly hour? He didn't want to hear it. Relaxing from his rigid resting posture, he slid bare feet over the edge of his slab, fully intent on giving his wayward Brother or Sister a lashing about letting the dead get their rest, and then returning back to sleep.

He was halfway to delivering a retort when he processed the voice. Stilling the would-be insubordination on his tongue, the vampire shook the sleep from his balance and dipped his head to his superior.

"Lucien, it's not that I am displeased to see you, but is this really the time?"

"We don't have any time," the Speaker said levelly, holding out a letter to the Breton. The broken seal implied that he'd already read it.

"A contract?" He eyed the envelope with scrutiny.

"No, a letter. From your friend."

Interest piqued, Vicente accepted it. There was only one 'friend' he had that would not be referred to as Brother or Sister, and if Lucien was waking him up to receive it, then Janus Hassildor had something important to say. He slid the parchment out of its envelope, crimson eyes quickly scanning the familiar and elegant handwriting.

"I'm surprised he needs me to deal with an errant vampire," he noted, folding the letter neatly and placing it on his desk. "Usually he deals with them quite well on his own. Even so, I'm quite happy to help, provided that you'll let me off duty for a couple of days."

Lucien swallowed. This was the hard part. He walked over to Vicente's makeshift bed, sitting down. In retrospect, he should have picked a chair, but he didn't want to insult the vampire by getting up again.

"I, er. I was suspicious about the same thing, so I sent for some information. One of our Sisters is currently stationed in Skingrad. You know, the whole Summitmist manor ordeal. I requested that she give me the situation, providing there was any, and the news is... not good. This vampire is unlike anything we've ever encountered before."

"How... so?" Vicente's thin brows slanted, eyes narrowing.

"First off, he apparently doesn't look anything like you." Lachance frowned. "The actual description I got was a seemingly endless rant about 'godlike features' and 'statuesque six packs'. I didn't know her vocabulary included that many adjectives, for Sithis's sake. I needed to give her a good shock spell to snap her out of it. But no, nothing about wrinkles or gauntness... no offense, of course." The vampire only shrugged, willing him to continue. "He doesn't have fangs, either."

Vicente visibly flinched, a rare lapse of his omnipresent calm. The thought was simply too demeaning to consider, especially since he'd just woken up. His nightmares seemed tame in comparison. "W... what is this madness? How is he even a vampire?"

"That's not the end of it," Lucien explained grimly. "The sunlight doesn't touch him. Rather, it... it makes him _sparkle_."

Vicente Valtieri felt his manhood – er, vampirehood – and his pride in his Dark Gift jointly crumble to dust.

"And from what plane of Oblivion did this abomination spawn from?"

"I don't know." the Speaker shook his head. "But I said I sent for intel? This... thing... whatever it is, is dangerous. Apparently, it has no concept of what's anatomically possible. It doesn't ever need sleep, it can jump incredible heights and distances without messing up its hairstyle, and it can watch women sleep for nights on end without losing interest. My contact says he's invincible."

"Is that even possible?"

"From what we've gatheted, this thing draws its power from its own unwarranted angst. And judging by the levels of glitter surrounding him, this power is reaching critical levels." Lucien looked up. "Vicente, this is bad. I don't doubt your abilities, but this sort of perfection and lack of apparent character flaws... He's a Mary Sue, by Sithis. And not just any Sue, but an _established _one. They're made to be undefeatable, regardless of whatever odds are stacked against them."

"A Sue..." Vicente grimaced. "I've heard of them, of course, but to actually encounter one... Night Mother help me."

"Indeed." The Speaker stood. "Which is why I was planning on accompanying you. Sithis knows you could use some backup."

The vampire was genuinely surprised. "I'm honored, Speaker, but do you not have your duties to tend to? Aiding your Family is noble, but the business of the Black Hand is not something to ignore."

"Vicente, if this thing isn't stopped, you know what will happen, right? I did some research on my way here. Sues have the power to distort the world around them. They have an acidic sort of aura, a powerful dark magic that melts personalities and intelligence. The people around them slowly become complacent, losing all of their idiosyncrasies and defining traits. It manifests itself in two ways – they either become pettily jealous of the Sue, or they become completely fixated on it, unable to do anything else than obsess over how much they love it. This distortion spreads slowly, but it never actually stops. If we wait too long, I doubt that even we'll be safe from it. We're not dealing with just a vampire here, and your friend knows it."

"In that case, I gladly accept your help." Vicente nodded respectfully. "Allow me to get my travelling cloak. I'll be ready in a minute."

"Don't tarry," Lucien said, turning to the doors with a swirl of his black robes. "We can't run a business if nobody in Tamriel remembers how to want somebody dead."

0o0o0

It took the pair a few days to travel to Skingrad, since their pace of travel was physically possible and did not include dazzling in any way, shape, or form. By the time Hal-Liurz informed him of visitors and led him to the castle's main hall, Count Skingrad was genuinely overjoyed to see them; not an emotion he usually associated with assassins.

"Ah, good, good, you've arrived..." Janus Hassildor was surprised to see that Vicente hadn't come alone, but he wasn't one to show it. He motioned for them to follow once and turned around, heading back to his quarters. Vicente took this in stride and followed immediately. Lucien hesitated for only a moment, trailing along after his companion with one eyebrow raised.

The Breton caught the look. "It doesn't do to have shady characters like us lingering in his foyer, would it, hm?" He laughed softly to himself.

"I suppose you're right. I didn't realize just how cloistered Count Skingrad was."

Another chuckle. "Not so different from ourselves. It's all caution, really, and well thought-out. And for the record, he can hear you."

"Perhaps," floated the clipped voice from ahead.

They found him in his quarters, sitting in one of his posh armchairs. The man certainly did seem to like crimson, Lucien noted, for the whole windowless room was done in rich red and gold... but unlike his own resident vampire, Count Hassildor seemed to enjoy the comforts of an actual bed.

"Vicente, I thank you sincerely for coming."

"It's hardly a problem." The old vampire smiled warmly, managing to display his prominent teeth and not appear malicious at the same time. "I just wish that you'd invite me over when you _didn't_ actually need something. You know, to catch up. It really has been too long."

"Yes, well, my station hardly allows for such frivolities, I'm afraid. And you are?" Hassildor asked, extending a hand in greeting to the other figure in black.

He shook it. "Lucien Lachance, Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, humbly at your service."

The nobleman inclined his head. "As I presume you've already discovered, these are indeed dark times for me to call on your organization for aid."

Vicente laughed. "Ah, Janus, you're insulting me. But who is this renegade that's been causing you so much trouble?"

"He calls himself Edward Cullen, but his name is irrelevant. I'm quite convinced that the creature is a Mary Sue."

"Lucien tells me the same. Oh, don't look at me like that. The Brotherhood has eyes _everywhere. _We don't rush into our obligations without intelligence, we don't have death wishes... Although, I must say," the Breton said, suddenly looking as though he had something very disgusting in his mouth, "I won't believe this 'sparkling' trait until I see it myself."

"For your own sake," the Count replied, " I hope you don't. It's such a degradation of humanity. I don't know whether I'll ever recover from it." His voice was so flat that Lucien couldn't tell whether or not that was sarcasm. "As for the task at hand, I realize this may take a while. During your stay in Skingrad... let's just say I'm hardly going to force you to stay in a tavern. Especially you," he directed at Vicente. "There so happens to be a currently vacant lot in Skingrad. You can use this house as your... base of operations, or whatever terminology you assassins use for where you strike from in the field."

"Safe house, generally speaking," Lucien cut in.

Count Hassildor gestured carelessly, exasperated. "To be quite frank, I don't care _what_ you call it, so long as you get this abomination off my streets. Here's the key to Rosethorn Hall, and I want it back when you've finished."

"Rosethorn Hall?" Vicente grinned. "You really are giving us quite the welcome."

Janus gave a slight shrug and drew a key from a pocket. "Nobody can ever afford to buy the place anyways. But please refrain from wrecking it."

"You can count on our professionalism," Lucien said smoothly, taking the key from him. "The possibility of a Mary Sue in Cyrodiil is a danger to everybody. It's in our favor to rid ourselves of it. Business is business, you know."

"I do know. And Vicente?"

The vampire tilted his head. "Yes, Janus?"

"Good luck. Not for anything, but I fear you'll need it."

0o0o0

Vicente had planned on spending the day in Rosethorn Hall while Lucien used the time to observe the target's habits and uncover any weak spots that they might have. Unfortunately for the duo, Edward Cullen did not have a daily routine. He simply stood there like an NPC lacking any sort of programmed actions, save for tossing his hair around and sparkling. Literally three hours passed without the target moving an inch.

The vampire inside the mansion had not yet seen his adversary, more than willing to allow the Speaker to be his eyes. Going up to the window would expose him to the sun, which no self-respecting vampire of his age could do without injury. He was in a corner, sitting on a wooden chest, shooting the occasional baleful glare at the light that flooded the rest of the room. He started, however, when Lucien suddenly pulled back from the window, drawing his weapons.

"I'm going to see if I can take him on. If I can't, we'll do this together tonight like I planned."

"What if you need backup?" Vicente's voice was concerned, even though he knew his superior wouldn't appreciate it. "If it's a Sue, then it's bound to be powerful. If you get into trouble, Brother, I can't help you. I can't step outside right now without catching fire. No disrespect, but our original plan was sounder, to strike together after sunset."

But Lucien only shook his head. "It's bad, Vicente. It's... hell, I don't even have words for it. If this doesn't stop as soon as possible, Nirn as we know it will cease to exist. I really wish you didn't have to see this, but... take a look. Watch me while I go for it. If things turn sour, I'll run back here – you can handle firing spells from the window, can't you? You were always good with distractions."

"It's not high noon yet, but it'll hurt. Open windows are trickier, it's more exposure..." Vicente grimaced. "Ah, but don't concern yourself with me. I'll manage. It's not as if you take orders from me these days, anyways."

Lucien grinned. "Exactly."

And with that, he turned away, rushing down the stairs without a sound. The heart of the assassin had been released from the cool mask of civility, and it thirsted for the kill. Vicente hadn't seen Lucien at work for a long time, but he had always been one of the best, and it was his duty as his Brother and ex-mentor to look after him at all costs. Experimentally, he stretched out a hand out of the shadows, wincing at the feeling of having plunged his hand into fire. What had to be done had to be done... He pulled down his sleeves for partial cover, getting up and fighting the rising urge to cringe as the sun's burning fingers clawed incessantly at his cloak. It took him nearly a minute to cross over to the window. The stained glass figures lessened the impact, but the light was even worse here, more direct. Even so, the pain suddenly dropped several notches on his priority list as he squinted into the hated daylight and scanned the scene before him.

Chiefly because he could not see the target at all, but a teeming horde of female teenagers of all races.

Vicente stared at the crowd of girls, perplexed. Since when did vampirism make one _popular?_ For three centuries, it had turned him into quite the social pariah.

Lucien was having trouble pushing his way through the throng of adoring fans. They were as tightly packed as kwama eggs, except the Dark Elven food staple did not push back with cries of 'I want to see!', 'Edward, I love you!' and 'Will you sign my forehead?'.

The figure in the center was hard to see, as shrouded as he was in brainwashed, simpering followers. From what he could see, the figure was tall and lean, wearing a half-open jacket that revealed an uncannily sculpted chest that sparkled like plastic diamonds in the light – Vicente nearly retched at the inhumanity of it all. His hair was a strange shade of reddish brown that could only be described as 'liquid copper' to emphasize his total perfection. His face was gorgeous even in a blank stupor, which rather described the vapid expressionlessness of his features.

And he was wearing a chastity belt.

"I must turn you all down, for I live only for my flawless and debilitatingly dependent wife," he was proclaiming to the hordes around him. They didn't seem to mind, continuing to swoon and faint at his feet. The self-respecting vampire watched the display in shock. It was even worse than Lucien had described. These people were less than human, less than sheep. It was as if all dregs of their being had been sucked out of them.

One girl was unable to stand the glitter and promptly had an epileptic seizure; immediately, she suffered a quick and horrible death as her prone body was paraded on by the stampede of mindless fans. "This is the skin of a killer!" Edward proclaimed angstily, gesturing to his shining abs. Had vampirism not been being degraded so hideously, Vicente would have doubled over with laughter.

_That is the skin of a disco ball_.

Lucien was getting close to his target. He'd brought along two Daedric daggers, one enchanted with a powerful shock spell, and the other mundane but effective. Vicente could see the pair glinting in the bright light as the Speaker rose both daggers. Had his heart been beating, it would have paused with anticipation. Here was his apprentice, great and deadly, about to bring another soul screaming to Sithis as his weapons scythed down like the claws of the Void –

Nothing happened.

That is to say, nothing painful or generally constructive to the cause of the two assassins happened. With two resounding 'ping's, the daggers glanced off. Knowing there was no retreat now, Lucien fought down his shock and stabbed again, this time with all his might. Nothing. It was like striking Dremora-tempered metal imbued with a flawless shielding spell with a fork. He tried a third time, slashing with both in quick succession rather than at the same time. Neither the normal nor enchanted weapon had any effect on the flawless figure. A core of dread solidified in the Speaker's blackened soul. What ungodly creation was this, that he, Lucien Lachance, couldn't erase it from the world?

Edward, having no personality whatsoever, did not respond in any way to being stabbed. The majority of the crowd of females swooning over him was too absorbed in the godlike figure to notice an assassin fruitlessly hacking away at their unblemished idol, but a few of the group defected upon recognizing Lucien, changing the target of their hyperventilation. Faced with a horde of fangirls intent on transforming him into a personality-devoid love object, the Speaker of Cheydinhal was forced to flee the scene or suffer a fate worse than death.

A now very sunburnt Vicente winced. His thick black hood and the tinted glass helped, but even momentarily peering at the fight caused him pain as the daylight struck him. But that pain was nothing compared to the hell Lucien faced now, and while it was their duty to rid Nirn of this abomination, he did not blame his superior for deserting the mission one bit.

Ducking away from the window, he frowned, massaging his forehead. A strange feeling was starting to manifest itself in the pit of his stomach, and it took him a moment to recognize fear. What _was _this thing?

Lucien was by far one of the most skilled assassins he'd ever trained. One could hardly rise to the rank of Speaker through ineptitude and frailty; Sithis did not tolerate weakness of any sort. But Lachance's blows and spells alike had no effect at all on the oblivious monstrosity. It wasn't a highly advanced resistance to normal weapons and magicka, because his loose jacket would have been mutilated rather than as pristine and female-attracting as it still was.

Which could only mean...

Struck with sudden inspiration, Vicente grabbed a conveniently located mouse and cast the extremely difficult and rare 'Summon Console Commands' spell, conjuring hundreds of lesser Daedra in the form of an inconspicuous, off-white keyboard. He scanned the construct until the arcane glyph "~" appeared to him, which he pressed. Gripping the mouse tightly, he braved the thin beam of watery light shining through the window and clicked on the freak of nature before him.

_Reference object "Edward Cullen" _(0005PRKL)

Pale, slender fingers clutched the keyboard. It was the moment of truth, the only chance left to save Tamriel as they knew it.

_TGM,_ he typed.

There was a very heavy pause.

_God mode disabled on actor 0005PRKL_

The vampire sighed in relief, slumping to the floor and letting the keyboard dissipate, returning to its original plane. It all made sense now. The invulnerability to sunlight, the flawless features in spite of vampirism, the magnetism that drew hordes of female NPCs to him... indeed, somebody had turned god mode on the sparkly bastard.

Edward, having not fed on human blood for years, burst into flames before he could compose a dramatic epitaph or even finish running his sculpted hand alluringly through his shining copper hair. Black lines of char crisscrossed his arms and legs, but having never learned how to comprehend or respond to physical pain, it was with only confusion that Edward Cullen burned down to a pile of confetti and glitter.

Beneath him, Lucien exploded into the mansion, slamming and bolting the door behind him as female OCs cried out his name, nothing else on their frenzied hive mind besides removing his pants. Vicente let the Imperial stand there and catch his breath for a few moments before turning and descending the ornate stairs.

He paused for a moment to press a palm to his forehead, leaning tiredly against the wall. Sparkling vampires? Mary Sues? By Sithis, he was glad it was over. The whole notion was just so _embarassing_. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to forget about it all, but he was certain that the indignity would be cropping up in his nightmares rather soon.

"Lucien," he called, approaching the shaken Speaker. "Is there any wine in the cellar? I don't know about you, but I _really_ need a drink."

Lucien Lachance didn't even look up. "Tell me about it."


End file.
